


Is It You

by AuralAesthetics



Category: Somewhere in Time (1980), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben is a softy playwright, Ben's POV, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), HEA, It'll be a few chapters before Rey makes an appearance but trust me things move quickly then, Mention of Mental Health Issues, Pining, Rey is a classically trained stage actress, Strangers to Lovers, Time Travel, slowburn-ish, will update tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuralAesthetics/pseuds/AuralAesthetics
Summary: He's a successful playwright on the verge of a mental breakdown. She was a striking ingenue of the stage from decades past. Everything changed when he saw her face. To return to her, he would defy space and time itself.A Reylo Somewhere In Time AU with a much happier ending.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

May 19, 1972

Backstage at the performing arts theater at Chandrila College, Ben Solo was finishing his second glass of champagne and celebrating the debut performance of his final undergraduate project, a play he titled "Not Enough Spring". The air was electric with excitement, and the din of the packed house at the afterparty was only improving the pleasure of the warm buzz he was working on. 

After four years of intense daily classes, juggling multiple part-time jobs, long nights drinking black coffee hunched over his typewriter, and nothing short of complete and utter devotion to honing his craft and attaining his degree, Ben was beyond exhausted, but thrilled.

There was a talent agent who had been in the audience, and if Ben had any luck "Not Enough Spring" had a chance at going to Broadway. Broadway had been his ultimate dream long before he'd even started planning for college. There was no contingency plan, no Plan B. Though he second-guessed himself more than he'd like to admit, his heart and soul told him that that was where he belonged. Tonight was his vindication.

While Ben was laughing uproariously at a joke his friend Hux had just told, a stranger sat alone across the room among the empty seats, wistfully gazing up at him. 

She was a tall and slim elderly woman, with long silver hair pulled into an old-fashioned updo covered by a white silk scarf, and a gorgeous floor-length black lace dress that matched the fashion of her hair. She had arrived early, watched the entirety of the performance, and now remained seated long after everyone had left to celebrate. 

After one last glance down at her hands, she removed her scarf, calmly rose, and slowly but deliberately made her way towards him. As she approached the crowd every eye began to fall on her, and the boisterous talking soon died out to silence. Wordlessly everyone parted around her until at least she approached Ben, softly touching the back of his arm.

Ben quickly turned around to find an old woman merely inches from his face. He leaned back in surprise, but before he could open his mouth she gently took his hand and placed what felt like a round, metallic object into his palm, closing their fingers around it. 

As their hazel eyes met, she passionately whispered "Come back to me!"

No sooner had the words left her lips did she turn back around. Confused and slightly tongue-tied from the alcohol, Ben could only stare in baffled silence as she drifted over to the exit. She wasn't halfway there before the crowd's curiosity bubbled over and the questions came fast. Who was she? What was she doing here? 

"I never saw her before in my life," was all Ben could offer, opening his hand to reveal a beautiful gold pocket watch in pristine condition.

He lifted his eyes and scanned the room to catch sight of her one last time, but she was gone and the noise of the party had resumed, leaving him alone in his head to wonder what the heck had just happened. 

Out of nervous habit Ben ran his fingers through his long black hair, then popped the watch open again and peered closer. This time he noticed the letters "RES" inscribed in cursive. To deepen the mystery, Ben didn't know anyone with those initials. He started to wonder if he'd ever see the woman again, but his reverie was abruptly cut short when Hux thrust yet another drink into his hand, slapping him on the back.

~~~~~~~

Rey smiled dreamily to herself, glassy tears shining in her eyes. Sitting in the backseat of her black 1930 Cadillac while her chauffeur Cecil drove her home, Rey was unusually quiet, but her heart was full. The drive was long, but the night was pleasantly warm, and the full moon above filled the cab with an ambient glow to ward off the somber darkness.

Rey had been waiting for this night a long time, and she had not been disappointed. He was just as passionate, just as alive as she had remembered. The sight of his beautiful, crooked smile, the sound of his deep, infectious laughter filled Rey with such pride, such longing, that the tears she'd been holding on to at last broke free. Of course he didn't recognize her. But it mattered little. She knew they would see each other again, somewhere in time.

Eventually the car slowed down and turned into the long, winding driveway that led up to the Grand Chandrila Hotel. There was an avenue of trees that lined the drive, and at the end it opened up to reveal the gorgeous old mansion that had been operating as a hotel for the last hundred years. It was a very large three-story building, with white wooden siding and tall columns in front of a well-lit porch that spanned the entirety of its front.

Within a few minutes Cecil had pulled up to a neat, cozy cottage that was nestled in the northeast corner of the hotel property. Rey had moved into it when her career started taking off, and for reasons unknown, she had never left.

Her housekeeper Rose, a short but sweet middle-aged woman with short black hair and warm brown eyes was waiting up for Rey as she came in, eager to know how her night had been. 

"How was it? Did you enjoy the play?" Rose asked cheerfully, but Rey walked past her and opened the door to her private study. 

Concerned, Rose inquired "Are you alright?" but it went unanswered as Rey gently closed the door behind her.

After turning on the light, Rey walked over to a small table that held her record player and lowered the needle. Still grasping the playbill, she fondly looked out the window at the gentle waves breaking in the moonlit bay before lowering herself into her favorite rocking chair. Rocking back and forth to the languid rhythm of the music, she held the booklet dearly to her chest and closed her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This first chapter is very faithful to the movie, but I plan on making my own plot and dialogue changes to make it unique and to give it a "reylo" flavor as well.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! Also, since music and writing is inextricably linked for me, here's my Somewhere In Time Spotify playlist if you're interested. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6ZC5TOteAn10b6D4xyzF7O?si=GlD5bIsNQFCeXdtFDMO9LA


	2. Chapter 2

June, 1980

The heat was stifling. Ben's office was beginning to look like a tornado had torn through it. Between the multiple opened notebooks scattered across his desk, the dozen coffee mugs leaving rings on every surface, and the endless takeout bags that he hadn't bothered to throw away, Ben had given up. He knew he needed to hire a cleaning service, he was a world class playwright for goodness' sake. No; that's not what he really needed he admitted to himself, but it would have to do for now. 

Less than a week after his college graduation Ben had received a call from an agent in New York at the very prestigious talent firm First Order Agencies. The meeting that followed that call soon led to a longer, more intimidating meeting with some of the biggest movers and shakers on Broadway. 

Within days he moved into the city and began working on his professional debut, a hard-hitting dramatic romance about two lost souls from different worlds set during the Civil War. It instantly struck a huge cultural chord, and the months of sold out seats guaranteed he would definitely continue writing. Since then he had started his own company, churned out five successful plays, and even won a Tony award. Everything he touched just turned straight to gold.

Nevertheless, the gold was beginning to tip the scales. Ben's workload had never been heavier, and although he was grateful to be in such hot demand, he was starting to wonder if he was slipping. Even though he knew he'd reached the top, he worried that the only place left to go was down to useless mediocrity. 

He lived by the maxim that no matter how much talent he thought he had or how much money he made, he was only as good as his last play. The theater business was highly political, public opinion was fickle, and although he had plenty of work now projects were never guaranteed. It was a world where money was ultimately king, and his disillusionment with it only grew every day.

Ben was only thirty years old and rapidly approaching burnout, and he knew it. He hadn't taken a day off in three years. At this point he was practically living in his office. It wasn't unusual for him to fall asleep on his leather chaise after burning the midnight oil, too exhausted to get behind the wheel. Once that became a regular habit he made sure to keep an extra set of clothes and a shaving kit in his desk just in case, but even that wasn't foolproof. Today that drawer was void of any clothes, the razor in his kit was rusting, and he hadn't showered in five days. 

Staring blankly at his typewriter, Ben absentmindedly stroked his two week old beard, willing the words to just leap onto the page. He sighed. He'd been sitting here like this for the last two hours; he needed to get up, do anything else to help get his creative juices flowing again.

He turned in his leather chair to the side table across from his desk that housed his record player. Rachmaninoff had always been his favorite composer; Ben's mother had introduced him to it when he was eleven, and when he moved out for college he had secretly taken the record with him.

His fingers had barely touched the album cover when his phone rang, making him jump back. It was probably the studio, he thought in disgust.

"Hello, Ben Solo here."

"Hey man, how's work going?"

Ben relaxed back into his chair. He'd known Armitage Hux since freshman year of college, back when he was still gunning for his MBA. The sarcastic, redheaded Brit was one of the few friends he had kept close with after his career had taken off.

"Eh...you know how it is. No rest for the weary around here."

"You don't have to tell me that. You're not exactly an easy guy to get in touch with these days. Heck, just last week I could have sworn you were dead," Hux muttered with just a hint of frustration radiating from his voice.

Ben dragged his hand down his face. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. It's been really-

"Crazy, I know," Hux cut him off. "Just tell me, are we still on at Domenico's?"

Ben took his watch out of his pocket. It was already four o'clock. He'd fallen behind, again, but he couldn't keep putting Hux off; it was a Friday and they hadn't hung out in six months. He needed to start living his life, at least a little bit, or a mental breakdown wouldn't be too far away.

"You bet."

~~~~~~~~

Domenico's was a popular Italian restaurant downtown that had the best New York style pizza Ben had ever had. Every few months or so Ben and Hux would go there and gorge on a couple of pies and Hux's favorite martinis and just catch up. 

"So let me get this straight...you've basically moved into your office now? No wonder you look like hell." 

Ben rolled his eyes, but he looked down at his glass knowing he couldn't deny it.

"Hey, what can I say. Work has been hell. This last play has been a beast, and the studio won't budge an inch. The deadline's next week and I honestly don't know if I'll have it done by then," Ben laughed nervously. "Honestly, the whole thing's a racket."

Hux smirked. "That's the name of the game my friend. You're practically sleeping with the devil at this point."

Ben gave him a deadpan stare. "You know, if anyone here's made a deal with Satan, it's definitely you. I wonder how many stockbrokers make it into Heaven these days."

Hux nearly spit out his drink.

"I'm so touched to see you're concerned for my soul," Hux chuckled. "But don't worry, this business is an invariable purgatory that you can't escape from. I've paid my dues."

Ben gave him a sly grin. "Sure, sure. Hey, how are things with Gwen? You haven't mentioned her lately."

"Well, uh...we...we broke up. She took a job in Connecticut about a month ago."

Ben's face dropped a little. "Wow, I'm sorry man. I thought you two were serious?"

"I don't know. I thought we had a good thing going...but she wanted to get married, have kids, buy a four bedroom house in the suburbs, the whole mess. I'm not ready for that right now. I guess she got fed up waiting for me to change my mind."

At that moment their waitress, a pretty young blonde with a name tag that read "Maria" came around the corner holding a large tray. After placing two large pizzas down on the table, she winked at Ben and sweetly murmured "Enjoy" before walking back to the kitchen. Ben could feel his cheeks heating up. Hux raised his eyebrows, smirking.

"Maria, huh? You should go get her number. I can't remember the last time you told me you were seeing anyone. Just because you're busy doesn't mean you have to be a monk. Unless that's in your contract, in which case tough luck, man."

"Sure, Hux," Ben replied sardonically. "I'll just ask this most likely young college student that I've never met out on a date while my career hangs in the balance. I barely have time for you, nevermind a relationship."

"No one said you had to start a relationship. Just a little fun every now and then. It would be good for you," Hux winked as he raised his glass to his lips.

Ben exhaled hard. They had never seen eye to eye on this issue. 

"Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather not waste my time using women like they're disposable toys. Didn't your mother raise you better?"

"Fair enough. And my parents got divorced when I was ten, as you well know. She tried her best. What can I say, I guess I'm a lost cause," Hux shrugged.

"Hey, it's never too late. I believe in you," Ben grinned.

Taking another sip of his drink, Ben's eyes involuntarily started following the crowds walking back and forth outside of his window. For all the years he had known Hux this wasn't a subject he felt comfortable discussing. 

Ben's own parents had separated when he was a child, and the shock had been seismic. He spent his youth being shuttled back and forth between two homes, stuck in a chaotic love triangle he could never walk away from. Ben would never admit this to himself, but he was scared. He'd seen firsthand the personal carnage that could be wrought under the guise of "love". He took his trauma and buried it down deep, where he never wanted anyone to find it.

Hux had set Ben up on several blind dates throughout college but they never went anywhere. He knew Hux meant well, but he found it difficult to relate to these young women who were so idealistic and carefree. Somehow they were always both too much and yet not enough at the same time. Once Ben had graduated and moved to New York all thoughts of women were left by the wayside. His typewriter became his longtime love, and at night he fell asleep next to the books he left open on his bed.

It wasn't until Ben hit thirty that the internal pressure began to ramp up. He had spent so many years trying to figure out who he was, what he was capable of, that he'd almost tricked himself into believing he'd done it. But he couldn't lie to himself anymore. And now...here he was on a Friday night, eating pizza with an old college buddy who refused to commit and who couldn't see a good thing when he had it.

Hux was content to roll his eyes and move on to griping about his insufferable boss, and Ben was grateful for once to just listen passively in silence.

After a couple more hours passed talking aimlessly about everything from baseball to the stock market to Hux's new boat, Ben unconsciously reached into his pocket for his watch. It was only 9:00, but he was beat and feeling decently buzzed from the martinis; the night had been long enough. He turned down Hux's offer to go play billiards at the local hall, and after a hug and some vague promises, Ben caught a cab back to his apartment. 

After locking the door and throwing his keys on to the kitchen counter, he dropped down onto his sofa and let his head fall back. Ben was tempted to turn on the TV and watch 20/20, but his exhaustion was reaching critical mass, and he knew he'd soon be sawing logs if he tried to watch yet another overly sensationalized news story.

Resigned to his fate, he got up and grabbed a glass from the cabinet and reached for the milk in the fridge. During college he found that it easily helped him relax when he had trouble sleeping, and it quickly became a part of his routine. After placing his glass in the sink he sauntered over to his bedroom and kicked his shoes off next to his king sized bed. He bent down to his records shelf and grabbed the second copy of Rachmaninoff that he kept at home. He set the needle to play his favorite piece, Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, and let himself fall back into bed. 

The combination of the gentle piano and the passionate strings usually relaxed him well enough into sleep, but as he unbuttoned his cuffs and collar and took off his belt, all the pent up thoughts of the studio, and his deadlines, and all of the crap he had to deal with that threatened to suffocate him rushed back into his mind. 

Instantly Ben's good humor evaporated and was replaced by a bitter rage that began simmering in his chest. As his pulse quickened his left eye began to twitch, and before he knew it he was struggling to do the breathing exercises that his therapist had showed him back in high school. 

His mother had suggested therapy to cope with his anger and anxieties from the divorce when he was just a teen. First the sessions had been every week, but by the time he graduated college it was down to only once a month, and now he only scheduled an appointment if he was feeling particularly stressed. Although Ben knew that therapy had been instrumental in changing his life and making him a healthier person, he wondered if there would ever come a day when he didn't feel like all his existential problems were going to crush him into the ground.

Though it felt like hours, it was only a few minutes before his breathing slowed back down and he felt in control again. He was beyond exhausted now, but he slid off the bed, turned the record player off, and made a beeline for his bathroom so he could wash the sweat off his face and cool down. This was the third episode Ben had dealt with this month. Something had to give or this was only going to get worse.

He knew he had to call his therapist in the morning, but as he laid back down in the dark his mind shifted to a different place, a place from his memories he knew he needed to see again. For the first time in months he was out in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Adam Driver is a big Rachmaninoff fan. (Skip to the end of the interview)  
> https://youtu.be/JyPiykO-2lo
> 
> Also, I know very little about the world of Broadway, so if I've made any glaring mistakes let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a few weeks since my last update; life's been a bit busy and hectic with the kids, but I'm still chugging along and can't wait to finish this!

The wind whipped Ben's hair hard and fast around his eyes and face, obscuring his view of the road, but he couldn't have cared less. He was pushing 90mph down the sun-soaked highway out of New York in his Porsche 911 convertible and he'd never felt freer. 

There was something about handling the gearshift and feeling the sudden acceleration beneath him as he pushed the throttle that did something to him. It was rare that he had a chance to slip into his Porsche, but the sense of power he felt at his fingertips whenever he drove it always boosted his mood whenever he felt he was losing control over his life.

Ben had come to a decision last night, after he'd closed his eyes and his thoughts had turned to the past, to old memories of his young life. There was a place by the sea, an old hotel named The Grand Chandrilda that he'd stayed at with his parents when he was still a child. They'd spent days building sandcastles at the beach, sailing around the bay, bike riding through the state park, even fly fishing. It was spontaneous and happy and he remembered every single bit of it. 

It was the last vacation as a family they ever took.

He needed to get away, clear his mind. Take a breather from the breakneck pace his life was moving at before his never-ending stress derailed everything he had worked half his life to build.

He knew they had all been happy there, once. Gone had been the awkward tension, the ever repressed anger, the fear of what he could lose. It was just him, and them, and the glimpse of a promise of what could be, what should be. It was the only place he could remember where he felt completely free, where time stood still.

So, upon waking up this morning Ben called his agent and told him he was leaving town for the weekend; where exactly, he wouldn't say. He then stopped by a travel store on the corner near his apartment and picked up a map, a pair of sunglasses, and a black leather suitcase to replace his old one that was falling apart. After packing just the barest of essentials and downing a single cup of black coffee he hit the ground running, slightly anxious but already feeling a sense of relief.

Within a couple of hours Ben turned off the highway unto a two lane state road out in the country. Knowing he was only 15 minutes away he found himself unconsciously relaxing and slowing down. He was so distracted gazing at the lush scenery out his windshield that he nearly missed the sign for the hotel.

Cruising up the long winding driveway underneath a canopy of trees, inhaling the fresh salty air, seeing the magnificent old building stretch out and reveal itself before his eyes like a white island of refuge was a balm to his heart, and it crystallized a resolve in his mind. This is what he needed, what his soul needed, and he wasn't going to waste another day starving himself from the inside out. 

Parking his car under the portico Ben gave his keys to the valet and eagerly entered the lobby through the glass double doors. He hadn't taken three steps when he involuntarily stopped, his jaw slacking. Surveying the room he saw that the crystal chandeliers in the high vaulted ceiling and the exquisite antique chaises and tables that decorated the foyer left no doubt as to the veracity of the hotel's name. Every table had an overflowing bouquet of white flowers in a tall crystal vase, and the mouldings that covered the papered walls from the ceiling to the floor were carved with the utmost detail and design.

Everything was just as he remembered it. 

A dull ache settled in his chest as he recalled his first time coming here; how awestruck he had been at seeing the sheer size and grandeur of the place, how thrilled he had felt to see his parents happy together for once, holding hands and sharing loving glances when they thought he wasn't looking.

Ben swallowed thickly and turned his head, attempting to banish the unhappy recollection before it cast a pall over the rest of his trip. Ignoring the rest of the scenery he hastened to the front desk where several hotel clerks were waiting to assist guests.

Upon reserving his room he turned around to see an elderly gentleman wearing a white button-down shirt with a black vest and tie, brown slacks and a black apron waiting for him with his luggage. The man had short white hair with a trimmed white beard and warm brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled. 

There was something in his manner that Ben couldn't quite place; a familiar feeling that only grew stronger as he spoke.

"Hello Mr...?"

"Solo, Ben Solo."

"I'm Lor, Mr. Solo. I'll take you up to your room," he smiled politely as they walked over to the elevators.

"Thank you." Ben hesitated, then quickly asked "How long have you been working here?"

"Oh, I've been here a long time Mr. Solo. I was about five years old when my father moved our family onto the hotel property when he became the general manager. That was back in 1910."

"1910? Wow, that's incredible."

"Yes, I've seen a lot happen here over the years. This hotel has been a wonderful home to me."

The elevator doors promptly opened and Lor walked them halfway down the hall to room 313. After unlocking the door and placing the luggage by the bed, Lor turned around and stopped just a few steps away from Ben. He tilted his head just a bit and peered at him for a few moments, as if he was recalling an old pleasant memory.

"You know, there's something very familiar about you Mr. Solo. Have we ever met?"

The hairs on the back of Ben's neck stood up, but he only paused for a millisecond before casually crossing his arms and shaking his head, smiling incredulously.

"No, no, I don't think so. My parents took me here when I was little, but that was the only time. I actually graduated from Chandrila College eight years ago but never had the chance back then to return."

"Ah yes, we do see a lot of students from the college come here, especially for La Forêt Enchanté. In fact we had a college prom in the ballroom way back in...oh, 1947 I believe."

At the mention of the restaurant Ben lifted his head. "Lor, can you tell me how to get to La Forêt Enchanté?"

~~~~~~~~~

Ben took the elevator to the first floor and took a left down a long hall over to the restaurant. To his dismay a red velvet rope was hanging in front of the door, blocking his entrance. After a few seconds the host noticed him and walked over. 

"May I help you?"

"Yes, when do you open?"

"In about 20 minutes, sir." 

Ben looked past the man in annoyance and raked a hand through his hair. The only thing he'd put in his stomach this morning was the plain coffee, and that had been hours ago. 

He could feel the slight burn in his stomach getting stronger, but as there was no point in getting back in his car and looking for a decent restaurant in town he thanked the man and continued strolling down the hall just to kill some time. 

With his hands in his pockets and no clear destination in mind he kept wandering, but after only ten yards he spotted a large white sign over a single open door. A few more steps and he was at the entrance, reading the words "Hall of History" carved in elegant gold script. Being both bored and a little curious, he slipped inside.

Crossing the threshold was like stepping back in time. In the small empty room the walls were painted a burning shade of red, with translucent red wall sconces that bled light into the plush red carpet. Adorning the walls were framed photographs of the hotel as well as artifacts such as newspaper articles and original menus from the restaurant. 

The space was no larger than his living room, but it contained a handful of glass display cases lined up against the perimeter, filled with all kinds of antique memorabilia to peruse.

Ben bent over to get a closer look inside one of the cases. His eyes soon fixed on a large leather-bound book, but as he glanced up to read the title, his body instantly froze in place.

He heard something soft echo in his ears; a sound he could have sworn he'd somehow heard before. It was a whisper from a dream, a cry from a nightmare.

"Ben...!"

Ben gripped the edge of the glass to steady himself as he felt the sound being sucked out of the room. In the vacuum of the space he inhabited he felt a warm presence growing closer from behind, as if a great light had somehow been cast over his shoulder, powerful and all-consuming. 

His first instinct was to turn around and find its source, but he could do nothing but continue to stare vacantly at the memorabilia below as chilling waves of adrenaline rushed through him, leaving him breathless. 

Ben could now hear his pulse pounding hard in his ears, but with every passing second his fear oddly began dissipating. The warmth he had sensed was taking over his whole being, pouring through his skin and melting deep into his bones, replacing all his anxiety with a dauntless calm and a renewed and stronger desire.

He slowly brought himself to turn; first his head, then his shoulders, and then his whole frame as he raised his eyes in ecstatic anticipation. His breath hitched when he saw it.

In the center of the wall at the end of the room a beam of sunlight cast a glow over an old black and white photograph of a young woman's face. Ben knew he had to get closer, to make out her every detail, but he couldn't help steeling himself, as if any moment everything would suddenly dissolve like the remnants of a newly woken dream.

With each hesitant step her face became ever clearer, his pulse quickening again. When he was within arm's length he stopped, his lips parting in a soft sigh. She was truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

Light seemed to penetrate every inch of her skin. Her long dark hair was pulled up loosely, fanning all around her slender face, and her dark eyes were shining with the deep serenity of her smile. Her generous gaze was slightly off-center, as if she was caught looking fondly at someone off camera. 

Ben couldn't help but lean in even closer, bracing his palms against the wall to better study all the facets of her face. She seemed to emanate a warmth, a passion, that unconsciously drew him in and held him fast. He felt he could drown in those fathomless eyes that seemed to be intimately meeting his.

At last after several long minutes had passed he looked down at the bottom of the frame for a nameplate, desperate for anything that would tell him who she was or where she was from; anything that could help him find her. 

Dammit, it was empty. He raised his eyes again, frustrated, his breathing fast and ragged.

Who was she? What had just happened to him?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed my outline around a bit so I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this will have... we'll see! Thanks for waiting for this chapter!

Lor had just finished unloading all the luggage from a car parked under the front portico when he heard loud, quick footsteps approaching from the hotel entrance. He'd barely turned his head when he saw Ben Solo calling his name, striding towards him out of breath with an agitated look. Before Lor could get in a simple "hello" Ben lifted his hand and cut him off.

"Lor, you know that photograph of the woman in the Hall of History, the one that has no name plate? What's her name? Please, I have to find out who she is."

Lor pursed his lips and looked down, blinking a few times in his attempt to process all of Ben's rushed and breathy speech. As all the pieces clicked together Lor turned to respond but was instantly taken aback with concerned surprise at the raw emotion brimming in Ben's eyes. His lips were practically quivering, and as Lor continued staring he could have sworn he did not see the young man blink once.

"Why, that's Rey Niima. She was a very famous actress back in her day." Lor paused to reflect. "She once performed in a play at the hotel theater down by the lake."

"When was that?"

"Oh...I believe it was 1912."

"1912?" Ben dropped his arms to his sides, dumbfounded. That was almost 70 years ago. She would be his grandparents' age now, if she was even still alive. A handful of new questions rose up to Ben's lips, but right then Lor politely excused himself to carry the guest's luggage back into the hotel, leaving Ben both alone on the porch and in his own head. Before he could decide his next move his stomach growled in betrayal, reminding him that he couldn't just starve himself the rest of the day. 

Reluctantly Ben walked over to the restaurant in a daze, more unanswerable questions swirling around in his head. When the waiter came to his table he ordered a coffee and his favorite meal, a steak with mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, but he soon forgot all about eating as he stared down the length of the large hall paralyzed in thought. 

His imagination could not suppress the haunting image of a beautiful stranger from coming before his eyes, nor could his intellect explain away the seemingly supernatural experience that happened to him in that room. That ethereal voice, that warm presence that calmed him like nothing else ever had... it had all been real, he knew it, and he couldn't help needing to search it out until every last stone was unturned and he had the truth. 

When his meal was brought over he managed to eat just a few bites, but it was no use. The mysterious woman had become enmeshed in his mind and there was no extracting her out of it. There was only one thing he wanted to do, and he knew he couldn't do it here. Without another word to his waiter Ben dropped a couple of bills on the table and walked out of the restaurant, seeking out the car valet.

~~~~~~~~

The Amidala Naberrie Library was a small rough-stone structure tucked amongst a collection of massive oak trees at the end of a cul-de-sac in the old section of town. It had been part of the town's post-WWII recovery and rebuilding, and was still in beautiful condition thanks in no small part to several wealthy donors who kept up its maintenance. 

This late in the afternoon the library was empty save for its curator, and Ben was relieved he could do his research in peace, unimpeded. He started off in the arts and entertainment aisle, snagging a few biographical books on early 20th century stage and cinema, but Rey Niima appeared to be as elusive and enigmatic as she was beautiful. At most all he could find was a simple mention of her name, not a picture or even a paragraph beyond a short list of her stage credits from the early 1900s. 

After an hour of pacing up and down the aisles and coming up empty-handed Ben's patience was beginning to wear thin, and he was about to call it a day and return to the hotel when he remembered that the library most likely had a storage area that held overflow reference materials. 

Realizing that the library was about to close and this was his last chance of the day to find something, Ben strolled leisurely over to the front desk and paused a moment before leaning over and resting his forearms on the honey wood. The young curator with black rimmed glasses and light brown hair in a simple bun was sitting there engrossed in her book, oblivious. He cleared his throat to finally get her attention, and as their eyes locked, hers noticeably widened as she tilted her head back to bring the entirety of his large frame into view.

"Hello Miss...Fisher," Ben tried to give her a warm smile, catching sight of her nametag almost too late. "I'm so sorry, I know it's getting late...but I was hoping you could help. Do you think you could find something in the archives for me?"

"Well...I do have to close in 15 minutes..." she sighed, trailing off. Though Miss Fisher couldn't help but rake her eyes over him again, she turned her head away in hesitation and more than a little annoyance. Rummaging around in the musty archives was not how she wanted her long day to end. For a few milliseconds she debated whether or not she should just make up a paltry excuse and turn him away, but it was all in vain. Turning back to issue her denial she was struck by how wordlessly his eyes pleaded with her, his soft lips twisted from a worry and a desperation that shot an arrow of pity right through her heart. She knew she had no other choice.

"Sure...what do you need?"

~~~~~~~~

After what felt like several years instead of merely several minutes, Miss Fisher gently placed on Ben's desk a not-so-small collection of entertainment periodicals such as Life, Time, Vogue, etc. Despite the couple of sharp paper cuts he inflicted on himself in his carelessness, Ben skimmed through page after page for the next twenty minutes, coming up dry and losing hope that he'd get any answers tonight. Unconsciously he yawned and rested his forehead in his hand, his frustration draining what was left of his dwindled energy. He still had at least half a dozen magazines left to wade through and the sky was getting dark; he needed to get ahead of the coming thunderstorm before it washed out the only road back to the hotel.

Spreading the last of the magazines apart to give them all a quick glance-over, Ben noticed a sub-headline that could have smacked him in the face. 'The actress, the recluse, the modern legend: inside the life of Rey Niima' With his fingers shaking he tore the pages open to 32, where a single color photograph of an old woman dressed in black filled up the page. Dropping the magazine, he fell back into his chair in shock and swore under his breath.

There she was. It was an absolutely irrefutable truth that twisted his gut and dried up his mouth, setting his skin on fire.

Rey Niima was the woman who had come to him the opening night of his first play. She was the one who had given him the pocket watch, who had uttered that strange, desperate plea, and then vanished like a ghost never to be seen again. Even if her picture had no caption he would have recognized those sad eyes, those cutting cheekbones, that wistful smile that held all her untold secrets.

Everything was making sense, and yet nothing made sense at all. Each new revelation seemed only to uncover another mystery, another burning question that he had no answer for. Why had she come to him? Had they met before in some long forgotten past? Was she crazy? Was he crazy? Ben quickly scoured the article to find out more, but what he read was sobering. 

Rey Niima had been born in a poor rural town in New York, spending half of her childhood being tossed between orphanages after her parents had been the victims of a horrific highway murder. After aging out of the system she worked a few years as a maid for a wealthy family in New York City before being discovered by a talent agent who became her manager. In 1907 when she was just twenty years old she scored the lead role in 'The Scarlet Letter', and for the next five years she was an unstoppable force, becoming the most hailed and successful actress of her day. Her last performance was 'The Reluctant Bride' at The Grand Chandrila Hotel theater before, for reasons still unknown, she disappeared into oblivion never to work publicly again. In her older years it was discovered that she quietly supported a handful of local charities, but every attempt made to arrange an interview with her was met with nothing but silence. 

Fortunately however, the article did have one bright spot among the sparse details. There were several quotes from a Rose Tico, Rey's longtime housekeeper and friend, and it appeared she lived in Chandrila. Ben couldn't believe his luck. He almost tripped scrambling out of his chair to grab a phonebook at the other end of the library, hoping beyond hope she would somehow be listed there. Dragging his fingers down the thin, inky pages he almost missed it, but shockingly she was there. Tico, Rose. 117 Sundown Lane, Chandrila. Without waiting another moment, he grabbed a pencil and notepad at the desk and messily scribbled it all down before dashing out of the library without so much as a goodbye or a thank you to the frustratingly flustered Miss Fisher.


	5. Chapter 5

It stormed heavily over the hotel all through the night and into the next morning, partially flooding the parking lot and leaving Ben an exhausted mess. According to the forecast that he watched on the small television set in his room, the rain wasn't anticipated to let up until late the next day. So, having no time to waste Ben set off into the darkness after a quick breakfast of just a black coffee and a bran muffin.

Rose Tico lived just a few minutes behind the hotel, making the drive through the almost biblical deluge mercifully short. Her house was a simple grey bungalow set a bit off the road on a short dead end street. It was almost hidden by the ever encroaching trees and large bushes that seemed to threaten to wrap themselves around it, and almost impossible to see in the rain. 

As soon as Ben saw the house number on the mailbox he parked on the street and made a beeline for the porch to avoid being soaked through his clothes, as useless as that was. He cursed himself for not packing a raincoat, knowing full well he probably looked like a pathetic, albeit large drowned rat. Slicking his hair back out of his eyes Ben looked nervously at the dark blue door in front of him and took a deep breath. 

He'd tried to rehearse what he was going to say, but all thoughts dissipated to nothing as he stood on the wooden threshold, unable to consciously admit that he was nervous. He knew the woman on the other end of that door held all the answers and that he was at her mercy. He might get lucky and she'd tell him everything he wanted to know, or she might just as likely slam the door in his face and leave him forever frustrated and confused.

Unable to fathom that possibility, Ben rapped on the door before he could lose his nerve, unconsciously running his hands through his hair and glancing all around the whitewashed porch. Sooner than he expected he heard the click of the lock and the door slowly pulled back. What Ben saw was everything he had hoped to find. Rose Tico had a gentle and welcoming countenance, and a warm smile that lit up the darkness out on the porch. 

"Hello, may I help you?"

Ben swallowed hard. "Are you Miss Rose Tico?"

"Yes...what can I do for you?"

Ben hated to lie, but he couldn't imagine approaching her outright with the truth either; he could hardly believe it all himself. 

"Well, Miss Tico, my name is Ben Solo, I'm a playwright. I'm actually writing a play based on Rey Niima's life, and I was hoping you could give-"

"No, I'm sorry, I can't help you," Rose cut him off as she moved to shut the door. Ben was faster though, grabbing the top of the door tight in its tracks and causing Rose to freeze as she held tight to its frame.

"Miss Tico, please. Please. This isn't about a play; this is something very personal to me."

Rose continued gripping the doorknob, her brows furrowing deeper. "I don't understand. What do you want?"

All Ben could think to do was reach into his pocket and pull out his pocketwatch, holding his palm open so she could see it.

Rose's hand dropped from the knob and flew up to her mouth, covering the sudden sob that escaped her throat as tears filled her eyes.

"Where did you get that?!" Rose choked out, half in shock, half in disbelief. She couldn't take her eyes off of the shimmering gold object.

"Rey gave this to me. It was eight years ago, on the opening night of my play at Chandrila College."

Rose rested her palm on her chest, biting her lip. "It disappeared the night she died. It was very precious to her; she never left it out of her sight."

"Wait...She died that night?" Somehow Ben had already known Rey was gone, but the coincidence of it all was almost too much to believe. This wasn't the first time he felt he was inhabiting some sort of mysterious dream he was yet to wake from.

"Won't you come in?" Rose quickly offered, seeing the shocked look on his face. "There are some things I want to show you."

Ben didn't need to be asked twice as he followed her through the small foyer and into the kitchen. The cozy room radiated a light and warmth that immediately set Ben at ease as he sat down at the table. Looking around, he saw a bright red kettle already steaming on the stove.

"Can I get you a cup of tea? Luckily I put the water on to boil right before you came. It's chamomile."

"Sure, I'd love one."

"Do you take yours with milk or sugar? I have honey here too somewhere."

Rose didn't wait for an answer as she began searching through her cabinets, setting the cups, saucers, milk, sugar, and honey on a simple wood carved tray. After pouring the tea she sat and gestured to Ben to help himself. He usually never drank tea, but the hot liquid helped him to soothe his nerves and breathe a little easier. For about a minute or two all was silent as they took a few sips, but as soon as Rose put down her cup she folded her hands in front of her and gave Ben an earnest look.

"Mr. Solo," Rose paused and took a deep breath. "I first met Miss Niima back in 1953 when I became her housekeeper. Over the years we actually became very, very close friends. As you can imagine, her past as a famous actress meant that there was always going to be someone attempting to intrude on her privacy. I always did what I could to protect and take care of her, whether that be screening her phone calls and mail or running all her errands. You'd be surprised at the lengths money grubbing parasites went just to get an interview or even a picture from her."

"So, I apologize for trying to slam the door on you. Even after her death I've gotten so many inquiries from vultures wanting to write a tell-all on her life or produce a late night television episode. It's very hard to trust anyone. I decided after she passed that I would do one interview, only one, to put to bed all the relentless questioning and to set a few things straight fairly and on my terms."

"I understand." Ben looked down at his cup feeling awkward. "I know how strange this all must seem, but it's been haunting me for the last eight years." 

He took another sip and cleared his throat, trying to put his thoughts into words, bracing himself for Rose's reaction. "I was just a young college student about to graduate. It was at the afterparty of my senior play when she came up to me and put this watch in my hand. The only thing she said to me was "Come back to me!", and that was it...I never saw her again. Until yesterday. I traveled up from Manhattan to stay the weekend at The Grand Chandrila, and I was wandering the halls waiting for the restaurant to open when I saw the Hall of History and just decided to go in. And then..." Here Ben took a very long pause.

"Something happened to me that... I can't even explain. And I saw this photograph of a young woman on the wall, and I don't know why, but...something just came over me. I just had to know who she was. Gah, you probably think I'm crazy."

At this point Ben stopped, realizing his voice was beginning to raise to a yell and it looked like he was getting heated. In the silence Rose said nothing but gave him a sympathetic smile, and it was enough to compel Ben to tell her the rest.

"One of the porters told me that the photograph was of Rey Niima, so I drove to the library to find out what I could. I finally found an old magazine article...and that's where I saw her picture. The old woman who had come to me that night was Rey. I'm sure of it. And...I saw your name, and that you lived in Chandrila, so I looked you up in the phone book...and now here we are."

"Yes, here we are," Rose murmured, reaching out across the table to rest her hand on his. "Let's go to the music room, I have some keepsakes set up there."

Next to Rose's living room through a pair of French doors was a cozy little space set up almost like a museum. There was a black baby grand piano, a large hutch next to the fireplace, a few small tables for picture frames and personal trinkets, and most noticeable of all a delicate old-fashioned white lace dress fitted over a mannequin in the corner. 

As Ben took everything in, he could see Rey's face was everywhere, in different poses and at different stages of her life. On one of the tables he saw black and white pictures in which she appeared to be in her twenties, formal shots most likely done in her own home. Over on the mantelpiece there were candid color shots from the 60's, an older Rey who seemed to take no notice of the camera. 

Ben's favorite was one of Rey and a much younger Rose, taken not long after she had started working as Rey's housekeeper. The camera had caught the women standing outside in the sunshine in a sweet embrace, both of them laughing to the point of tears. It was the happiest Ben had ever seen her, and the realization he would never see her smile like this in person cut him suddenly and deep. His intellect told him that he had never really known Rey, but he couldn't help but feel a strong, inseverable connection to everything about her.

At last Ben walked over to the piano, impressed with just how fine an instrument it was. It had nary a scratch on it, and he was sure that now it would be worth thousands. On the music stand he saw a thin book still open, the pages slightly yellowed from age. Folding them back to see the front, Ben thrilled to see the name Sergei Rachmaninoff.

"Do you play?"

Rose's voice came from behind, genuine curiosity in her tone.

Ben shrugged. "My mother made me take lessons when I was a kid, but after my parents' divorce they sold the piano and the lessons stopped. I haven't touched one since. You play Rachmaninoff?"

"No, but Rey loved him. She used to sit here and play for hours and hours...this piece was her favorite."

"You can't be serious," Ben said, not even trying to hide the thick emotion in his voice. "It's my favorite song in the whole world."

Ben turned to face her. He could see that her eyes were glassy, and a strangled, bittersweet smile was fighting to stay on her lips. It gently tore at his heart.

"Tell me...what was she like?"

Rose softly exhaled, wrapping her arms around herself. "When I met her, she was a very reserved person. Kind, but quiet. Over time our friendship grew and she began to let her guard down; she talked more, laughed more. I saw a happier side to her. Some of my happiest memories were made in this house. People who knew her when she was young say she was bright and full of life. She had a strength, a fearlessness like no one else; she would do anything for the ones she loved. Something changed in her though, and it seems to have taken place around 1912."

"I wish I could have known her," Ben said mournfully, almost to himself.

"I wish you could have too. She had a beautiful heart. You would have loved her."

At Rose's words Ben could no longer look her in the eyes. He felt that only a few seconds more his own eyes would betray him and he wasn't ready for a stranger to see that side of him yet. Looking down to distract himself, he saw a framed picture on a table by the piano that did not sit well with him. A man in his fifties with short white hair sat in a large wooden chair with his legs crossed and a cigarette in his outstretched hand. He had a smug look that Ben found obnoxious, and it made him wonder what this picture could possibly be doing among Rey's memorabilia. Before he could ask, Rose noticed him staring.

"That was her manager, Sheev Palpatine. They worked together when she was still a stage actress."

Ben's brows lifted in surprise. He had come across Palpatine's name in Rey's article, and though it hadn't told him much, his description in it was not exactly flattering.

"Was he as strange as people say?"

"There was something strange about their relationship," Rose said dryly. "Rey kept this photograph for decades, but she never talked about him, and I never met him. He must be dead now; he was middle aged when he became her manager."

Ben irritably mulled over Rose's words in his head, but yet again his eyes caught sight of something, this time a small pile of books on the coffee table, one of them instantly recognizable. He picked it up and read the title aloud, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"'Theories of Time and Space Travel'. My uncle wrote this."

"Luke Skywalker is your uncle? I guess I shouldn't be surprised by now. This was actually one of Rey's favorite books. She frequently used to sit on the porch and just pore over this all afternoon."

At Rose's words a chill went down Ben's spine, and his eyes shot back at the cover as if he'd never seen it before. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of anger and confusion pour over him as he looked at the name printed at the bottom.

"I've actually never read it...he and I don't have the best relationship," Ben deadpanned. 

"I see," Rose murmured. She quickly glanced at the book and then looked back at Ben. Her lips closed tight with resolve as she took the book into her hands and gently pressed it against his chest.

"Please, keep it. This book was very special to Rey...maybe it has the answers you're looking for."

Ben felt a lump forming in his throat, but he pushed it down as he gave Rose a grateful smile.

"When I came here I didn't know what to expect...but you've been more than generous. Thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all this."

"Oh, I think I do," Rose smiled wistfully. "I've seen that look that you had on your face when you first arrived in someone else's eyes too. I just didn't understand it back then. But time reveals everything, doesn't it? Don't waste another minute of it." Her face turned more serious as she spoke the last line.

"Mr. Solo, if there's anything you need," Rose offered as she took Ben's hands into hers, "You know where to find me."

Ben squeezed her hands in silent gratitude. "Thank you again, Miss Tico."

"Call me Rose."

Ben couldn't help but flash a brilliant smile as he returned the gesture in kind.

"Ben."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely kudos and comments! It definitely helps to keep me going. :)


End file.
